Dead to the world
by Aaunty Pasta
Summary: Gary disappears for a week then reappears dead.
1. In Mourning

****

Dead to the World

Part 1

By Auntie Pasta

Synopsis: Gary disappears for a few weeks and reappears dead.

**************************************

__

Everyone has to face death eventually. Even the guy who gets tomorrow's paper today. Who knew it would be this soon?

Marissa was scanning the books when the call came in. Naomi Lewis, the new partner at McGinty's answered it. "Could I speak to Marissa Clark, Please?"

"May I ask who's calling?" Naomi asked.

"Douglass Phelps," the man replied. "From the coroner's office. I need Ms Clark to come down and identify a body for us."

A knot grew in Naomi's belly. The third of their trio of business partners, Gary Hobson, had been missing for almost two weeks. His mother was so worried that not half an hour before she had called to announce that she and her husband, Bernie, would be there in less than two hours.

"Marissa's blind," she explained. Marissa got a puzzled look on her face upon hearing that. "I don't think she would be of much help."

"May I ask who you are?"

"I'm Naomi Lewis," Naomi said. "One of Marissa's business partners."

"Then you know Gary Hobson."

"Yes," Naomi affirmed. "He's my other business partner."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Douglass said. "But his body was pulled out of the river this morning. It's been there a couple of days."

Naomi went onto automatic pilot. "Thank you sir," she said. "Marissa and I will be there as soon as we can." The phone receiver fell from her hand and she began to cry.

"Naomi," Marissa asked. "What's wrong?"

"They... need us... to come down... to the coroner's office," she explained between sobs. "They pulled a body... out... of the river... and... they need us... to identify it."

"God, no," Marissa prayed quietly.

"They think it's Gary," Naomi finished.

**********************************

No words were exchanged between the two women as they waited to see the county coroner. He came out of his office and gestured to Naomi who took Marissa's arm and followed. He didn't say a word until they stood in front of a wall of cold storage units.

"He doesn't look too good," Phelps said as a warning then pulled open the drawer.

Naomi looked down at the body, covered with a sheet and swallowed. Phelps folded the sheet away to show that the body was indeed Gary Hobson. Naomi burst out crying and Phelps quickly re-covered the body with a sheet.

Marissa's cheeks were wet with tears when Naomi turned to her. "It's him, isn't it?" Marissa asked.

Naomi swallowed a sob. "Yes, Marissa," she said simply. "It's him."

******************************************

Three days later

Naomi stood in her dark blue suit just be hind the bar with her back to it. The pub was empty, closed, and waiting for the dinner that would be served after Gary's funeral. Off in the kitchen, she could hear the cooks preparing the meal, having offered to make it for free. Naomi stood still, as if staying in that position would bring her friend back. Her eyes were glued to the framed photograph that stood on a shelf behind the bar.

It had been taken just two days after the bar had reopened. A fire had gutted the kitchen and office but thankfully left Gary's home upstairs and the main room of the bar intact. The insurance would only pay an eighth of what they were supposed to and the bar was in danger of being shut down forever. There had just been no money available to keep it open.

Then the paper had led him to her. Naomi was crossing the street when the heel of one of her new Faragami pumps had gotten caught in a crack. Her foot was tightly buckled into the shoe and she couldn't get it loose—with or without the shoe. Suddenly, this man with strong hands grabbed her and jerked the shoe free—leaving the heel behind in the crack. The next thing she had known, she was standing on the sidewalk in the strong arms of Gary Hobson.

She had yelled at him at first, pushing him away and insisting she could have gotten herself loose, then chewing him out for the broken shoe, taking it off and throwing it at him. She could tell when he stalked off that he thought she was just a spoiled rich girl. But she had been poor most of her life, only inheriting her fortune from the lawyer who had arranged her adoption when she was just two days old.

She had run after Gary, apologized, told him that she had just had a bad day. She didn't really care about the damn shoe, had just needed to vent. "I'm sorry I vented on you," she had told him.

He had taken the apology in a dignified manner and started to walk away again, the newspaper in his hand. She stopped him to ask him to lunch—on her and he accepted. By the time they finished eating, Naomi had bought herself 33% of McGinty's bar, pending the approval of Marissa, Gary's business partner.

By the end of the summer, the pub was up and running again and Naomi was falling for Gary's boyish charm. Of course she couldn't stand that he was always in a hurry to get somewhere. She didn't understand, didn't know about the paper. One day, at Marissa's insistence, Gary told her, showed her, the paper. And suddenly, Naomi understood. Their fighting all but disappeared over the next few days, and Naomi grew to love him even more.

She didn't know if he loved her back. He had had a bad divorce and another relationship later on had ended badly. Marissa had explained that he was wary of women and why. Naomi was a patient woman. She could wait. Now she wished she had told him how she felt.

"You ready?" Marissa's voice broke into her thoughts.

Naomi looked away from the photograph and back at Marissa. The blind woman looked dignified, as she should, in stark contrast to Naomi's nervous wreck. "I'm ready," Naomi replied then looked back at the photograph.

Gary stood between Marissa and Naomi, a rare smile on his face. Gently, Naomi touched the glass over his face then moved to walk at Marissa's right, her left taken by her guide dog, Spike.

"I'm ready," Naomi repeated, not knowing whether she was trying to convince Marissa or herself.

************************************

The sky was crystal clear with only wisps of clouds sailing by. Today was one of Chicago's rare windless days. The graveyard was silent and still except for the group of people who stood around the coffin.

Lois and Bernie Hobson, Gary's parents, sat in chairs, numb with grief at the death of their only son. Around them stood Gary's friends. They made a pretty good-sized group. Naomi had read once that the only amount of riches that mattered when you left this Earth, were the amount of people who mourned at your funeral. If that was true, then Gary Hobson must have been the richest man on Earth.

Besides Marissa and Naomi, there was Chuck, a boyhood friend and former partner at McGinty's, and his wife who's name Naomi never caught. There was Erika, her ex-husband, Mike, and their son, Henry. Patrick Quinn stood near Erica, but alone, hair askew, eyes red. Just behind Erica and her ex was Nick Sterling, Philanthropist doctor who had taken a liking to Gary when he was dating Erika. According to Marissa, Gary hadn't treated the man too kindly—Gary had been jealous of Nick's involvement with Erika.

Then there was Regular Joe, the former quarterback of the Chicago Bears, and his wife. Gary had saved his marriage. An admiral from the Navy base stood to one side with a young woman whom Naomi suspected was his daughter. Marissa told her that Gary had impersonated an officer to save his life.

The service ended and Naomi watched as a woman came up to Lois and Bernie to offer condolences and a hug. Naomi remembered her from some of Gary's pictures as his ex-wife, Marcia.

There were others, faces of people that Gary had helped at one time or another. Slowly, the crowd thinned out and began to dissipate. Naomi knew she would see them later at the bar.

Tears in her eyes, Naomi looked up across the graveyard. A man was placing lilies on a grave past a small grove of trees and she watched him for a moment. He stood over the stone for a minute, looking at it, then turned to the funeral group. He was too dark for Naomi to accurately see him, his dark fedora pulled too far down over his face, but he seemed familiar.

By the time Naomi made her way through the crowd and to the grave, he had gone. She looked down at the tombstone to read the name. Lucius Snow. 1920-1995. The lilies lay at the base of the stone, just under the name.

Naomi started to turn away, intent on getting in the limousine with Gary's parents for the return trip to the bar, when a soft sound made her turn back. There, in the snow at the base of the stone, was the orange tabby that hung out at McGinty's. Naomi turned back and picked the animal up, thinking that he might have hitched a ride somehow with her and Marissa, not knowing his true acquaintance with Gary, and walked back to the waiting group.

The lilies moved in a gentle breeze that had come up.

*************************************

The hustle and bustle of the pub was in stark contrast to how the scene at the graveyard had been. People were talking, laughing and remembering their friend Gary. Naomi rushed around making sure that everyone had everything that they needed until Lois pinned her down.

"I need you to do me a favor," Lois said.

"Now?"

Lois nodded. "I don't want to go up there," she said. "But someone needs to go get the food out of his refrigerator. It's been in there at least two weeks, since Gary disappeared."

Naomi nodded. Part of her would be glad to get out of the crowd. "I'd be glad to," she said.

Now, standing at the door, Naomi found that she couldn't get up the courage to go in. Finally, she found it and pushed the door open.

Inside, everything was still as Gary had left it... had it really been only two weeks ago? It seemed longer. She turned right and went into the small kitchen area. Inside the fridge, most of the food was OK, but the out of date jug of milk had to be dumped and there was something strange in a container that she didn't even want to try to identify.

Halfway through her perusal of the fridge's contents, she heard a thump, meow at the door. Puzzled, she went to investigate and found the orange tabby sitting on a copy of the Chicago Sun-Times. With a sudden thought, Naomi realized that this is how the paper must have come every morning.

She picked it up with a sad look. "Sorry, pal," she said. "Gary's not here to read it." She placed the paper on the nearby table and started through the fridge again.

A soft breeze blew through the window, flipping the pages of the newspaper, but Naomi ignored it. The cat hopped up on the table and meowed, trying to get her attention. Naomi turned to scratch the cat's neck and glanced down at the paper.

The page to which it had blown open had a story on it that caught Naomi's attention. Reading through it, her brows came together. "Holy shit!" she exclaimed. Brushing the cat aside, she picked up the paper and headed downstairs.

*********************************

Marissa, Bernie and Lois joined Naomi in Gary's apartment when she showed them the article. "How could he have done this to us?" Naomi said. "I'll kill him."

"He's already dead," Marissa said with a smile.

"But that begs the question," Bernie said. "Why didn't he say anything?"

"Because he couldn't," Lois replied. "Not without putting us in danger too."

Naomi threw the paper down on the coffee table. "We may not have been able to act right if we had known," Naomi said as she plopped down on the couch next to Bernie.

"And I'm guessing that he didn't know that the paper would come today," Marissa added.

"During his funeral," Lois said.

"The only thing we can do for now is go downstairs and act natural," Bernie suggested. "Act like nothing's changed."

"Until the shit hits the fan," Naomi said.

"That's a good way of putting it," Bernie said as he stood. He took his wife's hand. "Let's go downstairs and act like mourning parents."

Marissa began to follow then turned back to Naomi. "You coming?"

"In a minute," Naomi replied. "I'll be down as soon as I finish with the fridge."

"You know," Marissa said. "I don't think that has to be done now."

"I need to do something productive," Naomi said.

"OK," Marissa replied. "I'll see you downstairs."

After Marissa had gone, Naomi shook her head. She picked up the picture from the end table; one like was in the bar downstairs. "You sneaky bastard," she said to Gary's image. Then put the framed image back where she had gotten it.

On the coffee table, opened to an inner page, sat the newspaper. The only headline that could be wholly read, was sitting on top. _FBI fakes death of local businessman to flush out killer_.

****************************************

Naomi threw out everything in Gary's fridge that smelled like it wasn't supposed to. Everything else, she put back where she had found it. She smoothed out her suit dress and put the jacket back on before picking up the paper and opening the door. At the top of the stairs stood the familiar man from the graveyard, his fedora still pulled low over his face.

An excited lump formed in Naomi's belly and she watched as he pushed the hat back to reveal his face. She covered her mouth to keep the squeal of delight from coming out and tackled him, sending him crashing into the corner where she hugged him tightly.

She couldn't speak for several minutes and Gary just held her until she pushed away and slapped him. "If you _EVER_ do that to me again," she said. "I'll kill you myself."

Gary rubbed the spot where her hand had connected. "Well, good afternoon to you too," he replied. "You don't seem too surprised to see me."

"I got advance warning," she said hitting him with the paper.

Gary glanced at the paper. "I didn't know it would come here," he said.

"Obviously," Naomi said then grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him into his room. "You want to explain just how you got into this mess? The paper doesn't explain it in too great of detail."

"Long story," Gary said. "I'd rather tell it once than several times, so if you could wait for just a few minutes..."

Naomi shook her head in exasperation. "I'll wait." She looked up into his eyes. "Was that you at the graveyard?"

Gary took her hand and pulled her to the window. "Yes," he said. "I'll explain when I explain everything." Outside, two black cars parked in front of the building. "Give them a few minutes and we can go downstairs."

*******************************************

Downstairs, several FBI agents handcuffed a man amongst the surprised mourners. They stood, waiting until they were given the green light to take him away but before they could, someone pushed his way through the crowd. Gasps of surprise could be heard as the mourners realized that it was the person whom they were mourning pushing his way through.

"You!" the arrested man exclaimed with shock. "You were dead! I saw you in your coffin!" He paused to look Gary up and down. "In that suit!"

"As a great author once said," Gary began. "'The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'"

The lead FBI agent signaled for the suspect to be taken away. He turned to Gary. "I know that this wasn't much fun for you," he said. "But you have saved countless lives from a serial killer. Thank you."

Gary shook his hand. "You're welcome," he replied.

The agent took his leave and left behind an eerily silent bar. All eyes were on Gary. Gary cleared his throat. "Looks like a great party," he said. "What's the occasion?"

Laughter ensued and the party continued, but the atmosphere was more jovial than it had been before.

***************************************


	2. Designing Murder

Two weeks earlier...

"I've got to keep a kid from riding his bike off a bridge," Gary said to Naomi as he sprinted through the bar. "Then I have to keep someone from getting murdered."

Naomi grabbed his arm as he dashed by. "Slow down a sec," she said. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

Gary shook his head. "Sorry, Naomi."

"Then give me a call when you get done, OK?"

Gary smiled. "I'll try, mother," she said then clucked at her.

"I know I act like a mother hen," Naomi said. "But sometimes I think you get in a bit over your head."

"I do," Gary replied. "Sometimes." He glanced down at the paper. "Gotta go," he said then was gone.

A couple of hours later, he was running, trying to get to the murder scene before the killer could kill his victim. He came sprinting around a corner into the alley in time to see the killer cut his victim's throat. The woman fell to the ground with a sickening thud and the killer turned to look Gary straight in the eye. Gary took two steps backward then turned and ran back the way he had come. He stopped at a nearby phone booth to call the police and the next thing he knew he was sitting in a small office at the FBI's Chicago headquarters.

"We've been tracking this guy for months," Agent Devon Mills told him. "One of his MOs is going to his victim's funeral then sending a very detailed report on it to the police."

"Why is the FBI involved?" Gary asked. "Even though he's a serial killer, wouldn't that be local jurisdiction?"

"Yeah, except one of his victims was a U.S. senator," Mills replied. "I'm working in conjunction with a local officer to find this guy and..."

"I should have known it was you," came an all-too-familiar voice from behind Gary.

"I take it you two know each other," Mills said as the cop in question walked to the desk and put her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, we're friends," Brigatti said. "If you can call it that." She gestured in Gary's direction. "He gets in more trouble than a single person is allowed."

"Nice to see you too, Brigatti," Gary said.

"I take it he's the only person who has had a good enough look at this guy to make an accurate description," Brigatti said to Mills.

"'Fraid so," he replied the turned his attention back to Gary. "You see, we've only had partial descriptions of the guy. He likes to try something new every time he kills, but he always moves on after three. The one you witnessed. Number three."

"Oh boy," Gary said.

"But you are our wild card," Mills went on. "You saw him. He won't be able to let that get away."

"You think he's going to try to kill me," Gary stated.

"Probably," Mills said. "Unless we do it first."

Brigatti jumped and stared. "What?"

"We are going to kill off your Mr. Hobson," Mills replied.

"Now wait a minute," Gary said. "I got a lot of people who count on me."

"They'll just have to do without you for awhile," Mills said then leaned forward. "There are more than thirty people dead in seven states. He kills three and moves on, kills three and moves on. If we stop him here and now, there won't be any more killings. You will be saving more people than just yourself."

Gary's face screwed up and he rubbed his face with his hand. "All right," he said. "What do you need me to do?"

Mills looked thoughtful. "How well do you swim?"

*************************************************

Gary walked across the 15th street bridge. The sun was rapidly setting and he was fidgeting a bit because he had an awful itch on his back that he couldn't scratch. The bulletproof vest he was wearing was not comfortable at all.

He stopped about a third of the way across and waited until he heard someone coming out of the shadows. He turned slightly and saw the guy from the murder scene approaching with a gun he aimed it at Gary and Gary turned in time to catch a bullet on the chest. As he'd been instructed, he let the impact of the bullet throw him over the bridge and into the water. Once there, he swam through the murky water to hide behind a pylon. When the killer looked, all he would see in the murkiness was black.

Gary breathed shallowly around the pain in his chest. He bit his tongue so that he didn't make a sound in case the guy had super hearing. Several minutes later, he heard the boat that meant the killer had gone and they were coming out to get him. He let his teeth chatter then, thankful that they had prepped him well enough to keep him from freezing in the barely-above-freezing water.

The boat was nonchalant about getting him and to Gary, freezing in the cold water of the Chicago River, it seemed like they were taking their time. He knew that the opposite was true and that they were actually hurrying to get him. The cold water turned every second into an hour.

Quietly, a life preserver was lowered to the water and Gary swam to it with stiff arms and legs. He grabbed it and let it drag him along until they could start pulling it back up. Two agents pulled him aboard where Brigatti was waiting with a warm wool blanket. She wrapped him in it and quickly got him inside where he could stay out of sight and get warm.

Brigatti handed him a set of dry clothes and left him with an FBI doctor who would make sure he was all right. When she came back with Mills, Gary was dry and shirtless, the doctor checking his breathing and heart rate.

"How's he doing?" Mills asked.

"Heart rate's down a bit," the doctor answered. "And his tem is only about 93* but he's already coming out of it." He looked back at his patient as Gary slipped a warm sweater over his head. "Healthy guy."

"Great," Mills said. "Now all we have to do is wait a week or so, act like we're dragging the river and catch him when he shows up at the funeral."

"Of course, Hobson will have to make an appearance to positively ID the guy...," Brigatti commented.

"You'd better have some ambulances standing by," Gary put in. "We'll be giving everyone heart attacks."

"There's one other thing that you'll have to do that you probably aren't going to like," Mills said.

"What's that?"

"When we *find* the body," Mills began. "They'll have to have something to identify."

Gary closed his eyes and rubbed his face. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

Mills and Brigatti both smiled. "That's the spirit," Mills said and slapped Gary on the shoulder.

*******************************************

"Where is he?" Naomi said as she twisted the rag that she was holding.

"If he said he'll call, he'll call," Marissa said.

"It's been hours," Naomi said. "I'm getting worried."

Marissa only shook her head and went back to what she was doing. Naomi sat at the bar, the phone on the bar in front of her. She set the rag aside and put her head in her hand. The TV above the bar was just background noise until the news came on. Naomi turned it up.

"Two people are dead today at the hand of what police believe is a serial killer," the newscaster said. Naomi sat up. "The first was found by a passerby in an alley on Oakdale Street. The victim was identified as thirty-two year old Alison Wilkes. The second victim is unknown. Witnesses say he was shot point blank on the fifteenth street bridge. The impact sent the body over the bridge into the river. The identity of the second victim is not yet known pending retrieval of the body. In other news..."

A knot formed in Naomi's stomach as she clicked the TV off. She found that she couldn't breathe and tears squeezed from her eyes. "Please don't let it be Gary," she whispered.

******************************************


	3. Hanging on

Gary woke at almost ten a.m. the next morning. He found the paper sitting on the table across the room. It was dated the next day. He picked it up and began to peruse it when there was a light knock on the door. He pulled open the door to find Brigatti standing there with a McDonald's sack.

"Breakfast?"

"Come on in," Gary said, waving the officer in. "Did you get my paper?"

"Yes," Brigatti said as Gary took the sack and a cup of coffee from her. "And, no I didn't read it. I know how obsessive you get about that thing."

Gary sat down at the table and pulled the food out of the sack. "How goes the search?"

"So far, so good," Brigatti replied. "A couple of more days and we'll be finding the body."

"My body," Gary said and took a bite of the breakfast sandwich.

"Yeah, well," Brigatti said. "If it helps any, They won't be mourning you for long."

"Not really," Gary replied. "But I guess it'll have to do."

"Here's how it'll go," Brigatti said as she sat down at the table across from him. "You'll be in the coffin, but it won't be closed at all. You'll have a bug somewhere on you in case he says something. If he doesn't, you'll have to ID him at the wake. In the meantime, we'll have officers and agents dressed as mourners. But I don't think he'll think they know what he looks like."

"Because he thinks I'm dead," Gary commented around a cup of coffee.

"He and everyone else," Brigatti said.

"You going to be there?"

"Who do you think is going to keep you from screwing up? That sexy little new partner of yours?"

Gary smiled slightly at that.

*****************************************

One week later

"I haven't seen him in a long time, Mrs. Hobson," Naomi said into the cordless phone as she served customers during the lunch rush. It was hump day and people wanted to use their one-hour break to their advantage. Naomi wanted to use it to hers as well. By finding the missing third partner. "He went out about a week ago to keep a murder from happening and never called or came back."

"Did you call the police?" Lois asked.

"Yes," Naomi said. "I talked to a Detective Brigatti and she said that they will do whatever the can to find him. From what I gather, she's had dealings with Gary before. I'm sure she'll find him. I've been calling around and nobody else has seen him either."

Lois made a worried sounding noise. "Bernie and I are coming up."

"I wouldn't have expected any less," Naomi replied.

**************************************

Gary stripped down to his jeans and let the police makeup artist make him look bloated and dead. "The chamber you'll be in has the refrigeration turned off," said Douglass Phelps, the county coroner. "It's been sitting open to get warmed up." He smiled slightly. "We wouldn't want you to freeze, now would we?"

"That telltale cloud of steam coming out of my mouth would be a bit of a nuisance too," Gary commented as the makeup artist finished up.

"Ready?" Phelps asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Gary said as a third officer came in.

"They're here," said the man.

"Then let's get this show on the road," Phelps said. "I promised Brigatti I'd have you back in an hour."

Once in the drawer, Gary closed his eyes and almost fell asleep when they pulled open the drawer. He winced under the sheet then took a deadpan pose with his face. He felt guilty at making his friends cry, but other like them might die if he didn't do this. A few minutes later, they pulled the drawer open once again and let him out.

"I'm sorry we had to put you through this," Phelps said. "But as long as they think you're dead, the killer will think you're dead."

"I didn't like doing this to them," Gary said as he pulled a shirt over his head.

"So am I," Phelps replied as Brigatti entered.

"You look like death warmed over, Hobson," Brigatti said.

"I thought that was the idea," Gary replied.

"It was," she replied. "Carrie did a good job. Let's go."

Gary pulled on a long coat and a dark hat and pulled the hat down low over his eyes. When they got to the car parked around back, he pulled the paper and began skimming through it. Nothing. Nothing for the last week. It seemed the police weren't the only ones who wanted him to catch this killer.

************************************

Marissa and Naomi sat at a table in the bar, waiting for Gary's parents to get there. When they did, Naomi told them to sit down. Lois instinctively knew what they were going to say.

"No," she said as she shook her head. "No, he can't be." She began crying hysterically as Bernie grabbed her and held her.

"I'm sorry," Naomi said with tears streaming down her face. She retreated to the office where she could be alone.

A few minutes later, Marissa joined her. "Did you get her calmed down?"

"Yes," Marissa answered. "How are you doing?"

"Not good," Naomi replied. "You?"

"I've been better," Marissa replied. "They've started making phone calls. Contacting friends."

"Do they need any help?"

Marissa smiled. "They might."

********************************************


	4. Calling Friends

Chuck was yelling at the director of "Bikini Squad" at the top of his lungs. "I told you this idea was going to cost way too much!"

The director stuck a finger in Chuck's face. "It wouldn't have if you had let me do things my way!"

"Who's the producer of this show?" Chuck said as his cellular phone rang. He pulled it out of a pocket and handed it to his assistant Myra. "Me! *I* run things. Not you!"

"You pay me to get this show on the air!" the director yelled back. "I'm just doing what you want."

Chuck took a breath to yell some more when Myra interrupted. "It's a Lois Hobson," she said. "She says it's about your friend Gary."

Chuck took the phone. "Lois, honey!" he began then fell silent. "God no," he whispered. "When? ... I'll be there... Thanks for letting me know." He hung up the phone. "Myra, call Jade and tell her to get some things packed. Then make arrangements for a trip to Chicago." He started to turn away.

"Mr. Fishman," Myra said. "Is something wrong?"

Chuck turned. "My best friend was killed and I have to go to his funeral."

"I'll get right on it," Myra said and picked up her own cellular as Chuck turned to the shocked director.

"Just finish the episode," Chuck said and turned and walked away.

**************************************

Marcia Hobson's phone rang three times before she reached it to answer it. "Marcia Hobson," she said. "Mrs. Hobson." She smiled. It had been a long time since she had spoken to Lois. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The smile melted as Marcia listened for a few minutes then sat slowly in her chair. "I... I'm so sorry, Lois," she said. "When's the funeral?" she jotted it down on her desk pad. "I'll be there," she said. "Thanks for letting me know."

Slowly, she hung up the phone before turning and looking at the Chicago skyline. "I just can't believe he's gone," she muttered, a tear rolling down her cheek.

**************************************

Erica picked the Chicago Sun-Times up from her parents' front porch, carefully reading the headline, _serial killer victim found_. As she skimmed the article, she freaked.

"Mom! Mom!" she cried. "Mom!"

Her mother and son came racing into the entry to see what was wrong. Erica let the newspaper slip from her fingers and she pressed her hands to her face to try and stop the tears. "What is it?" her mother asked.

"It's Gary!" Erica said, the tears pouring down her cheeks.

Erica's son Henry picked up the paper and read the article before he, too, began crying. Erica took him in her arms and clung to him, trying to comfort him. Her mother wrapped her arms around both, just being a comfort to them.

*****************************************

Patrick Quinn sat down hard at his computer desk with a sigh. Mr. Hobson had been right. He loved teaching kindergarten more than he ever thought he would. He leaned forward to start his e-mail program. It said the quiet words, "You've got mail!" and he found a note from Henry. With a smile, he opened it.

As he read his small friend's note, the smile disappeared from his face. He leaned forward and reread it, wondering if it was true. He went to the Chicago Sun-Times webpage and checked the obituaries. Sure enough, there was an obituary for his friend Gary Hobson. His mouth hung open and a tear streaked its way down his cheek. He was too shocked and saddened to speak.

**************************************

Nick Sterling signed the last in a stack of papers authorizing the construction of a new hospital in South Africa as his assistant came in with a stack of newspapers. He set the files aside and smiled at her. "What do we have here?"

"The newspapers you asked for," she returned then dropped them on his desk one by one. "New York Times, LA Times, Chicago Sun-Times."

"Thank you, Laura," he said and picked up the top paper and began to read the story. The look on his face fell. "Laura!" he called, stopping the woman before she could get out the door.

"Sir?"

"Make arrangements for a trip to Chicago," he said. "Immediately."

"Is something wrong at the hospital?"

"No," Nick replied. "This is personal. I have to attend a funeral."

*****************************

"Man," Miguel Diaz said. "I can't believe the guy is dead."

"Who can?" asked Craig Denton, the new photojournalist for the Sun-Times. "I can't and I don't even know the guy." He bit into his hot dog as he and Miguel say at their desks in the newspaper photo office.

"Gary Hobson had this knack for knowing when something was going to happen," Miguel said as he leaned forward. "He saved my life and I for one will never forget him."

Craig finished his hotdog. "Good for you," he said around the mouthful. He swallowed. "I take it you're going to the funeral."

"I got to, man," Miguel replied. "He was a great guy."

"I'll be there too, man," Craig said. "I'm covering it."

"I heard there'll be a lot of people there," Miguel said. "Sports figures, cops, politicians."

"The guy knew a lot of people?"

"You got that right," Miguel said as he propped his feet up on the desk. "He gets around a lot... or so he said."

"I ought to get some good pics then," Craig said as he picked up his camera and began fiddling with the lens.

"You know," Miguel began. "I can get those shots."

"Not necessary," Craig said. "Besides, you ought to be concentrating on the loss of your friend."

Miguel gave him a dirty look. "Yeah. Right."

*******************************************

Gary stood away from the crowd with a bouquet of lilies in his hands. He watched until the rather large crowd began to break up. Watching them, he saw Naomi and pulled the dark fedora down further over his eyes. He turned back to Lucius Snow's grave and placed the flowers at the base of the stone. The paper hadn't come that morning and it had him a little worried. When he turned back to the funeral group, Naomi was looking right at him.

When Naomi's attention turned elsewhere, Gary turned to hurry out of the graveyard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure. He looked again and saw the man who had shot him in the dark. He held a camera and shot a picture every once in awhile. He turned once again and hurried away to a police car. It wasn't long when Brigatti joined him.

"Well?" she asked.

"I saw him," Gary said. "He had a camera and was taking pictures."

"Like maybe for the press?"

Gary nodded. "Yeah," he said. "He seemed to be hanging around Miguel Diaz."

"Diaz introduced me to the photographer covering the funeral for the Sun-Times," Brigatti said. "His names Craig something." She turned and started the car. "We'll get him at the wake."

***********************************

Brigatti went in the front door as Gary went in the back. He hid out in the back of the kitchen until the cooks' attention was on their cooking and snuck through to the stairway to his apartment. He had promised Brigatti he would hide out up there until the FBI got there and they could arrest the suspect.

When he got to the top of the stairs, Naomi was just coming out of the apartment. He took off the fedora and stood there waiting for the shock to appear on her face. She attacked him with a hug instead then slapped him when she finally pulled away. The paper had come to the door of his apartment instead of the safehouse where he had been staying.

************************************

A group of FBI agents pushed their way through the crowd and grabbed Craig Denton. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"I'm Detective Brigatti," Brigatti said. "And you're under arrest."

"For what?"

"Murder," Brigatti said as she handcuffed Craig. "The murder of Alison Wilkes and the attempted murder of Gary Hobson."

"Attempted? There was nothing attempted about it," Craig said.

Agent Mills stepped up next to Brigatti as gasps of surprise began to come towards them. The crowd parted to reveal Gary, very much alive.

"You!" Craig exclaimed with shock. "You were dead! I saw you in your coffin!" He paused to look Gary up and down. "In that suit!"

"As a great author once said," Gary said. "'The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'"

_Death comes to everyone. But only the guy who gets tomorrow's paper today could ever find a way to get around it... for now._

****

The End


End file.
